Descent
by CyberFlow
Summary: Sammy Lawrence is in the brink of despair. Everyone is either dead or turned into one of those monsters, and the demon is lurking in the halls. But even after all that's happened, he is determined to hold onto the last of his sanity. Focused on surviving, he composes a plan.
1. Sinking

He could still hear them screaming.

He could still see them, what used to be his coworkers, barely humanoid in shape, splattered all around the floor. Moaning, wheezing, begging. He couldn't get their voices out of his mind as he ran.

He ran, but the studio didn't seem the same it was an hour ago. The ink covering walls and floor, and the collapsed sections disoriented him. Where was the exit? What floor was he at? The ink was crawling around him and he knew _he_ was looking for him. He was the only one left.

A pipe burst in front of him, making him freeze. No, no, no! He turned around and attempted to run, but he felt something pulling at his leg and he fell. It was only one, but the sight of the abomination ( _who had it been?_ ) clutching at him, reaching out for him, made Sammy kick with all his might to free himself. His foot connected with the jaw of the thing, and as its head twisted backwards, the sickening sound of its neck snapping flooded the hallway. Sammy scrambled backwards, never taking his eyes off the forming puddle that had been the monster.

His only warning was a hiss. From the ink flowing from the pipe, a figure launched at him. He had no time to react as a gloved hand quickly closed around his neck and a huge grin covered his field of vision. Sammy clawed at the demon's arm, desperate to loosen the hand. His mind could only concentrate at inhaling what little air he could, so it was too late when he realized that he was being dragged towards a pool of ink. He kicked and tried to wriggle out of the monster's hold, but he didn't react even when Sammy dug his nails in his wrist and tried to tear what he could.

The moment they reached the ink, the demon plunged him in and held him there. It was but a moment before the ink started flooding his nose, his ears, his eyes! But the burning in his eyes was quickly forgotten when the feeling of choking sent his mind into a panic. He flailed, wanting to scream, wanting so desperately to draw a single breath in, but his throat had closed on him. The word death clung to his mind. Death, death, death. He was going to die. He did not want to die! With the last of his strength he managed to land a kick on the monster's arm and push himself up, just enough for his head to emerge from the surface. Just enough to gasp.

Sammy felt as if time slowed down. All he could hear was his uneven breathing. Everything was blurry and dark. Everything but one thing. He could clearly see the demon, _Bendy_ , his figure slowly reaching out for him, smiling. Always smiling. But then, noise. A scream. Anger? Fear? That voice. Joey Drew. The demon froze.

Bendy looked up. It had come from upstairs. Without a warning, his bigger hand grabbed Sammy's head and submerged him once more. Ink filled his mouth and throat, and in an attempt to free his airway, he swallowed. But just as quickly as it had happened, the hand let him go. Pushing himself up, he caught the hunched image of the monster sinking beside him, merging with the ink, disappearing to somewhere else in the studio.

As soon as air entered his mouth he started to cough. The fit only turned more violent as he dragged himself away from the ink pool. Having advanced just a couple of feet, the bitter and metallic taste worsening on his tongue, he vomited. The liquid falling from his mouth was too thick, and for a moment he feared he'd choke on it. But eventually, it stopped. Too weak to go any further, he collapsed right then and there. Sammy felt lightheaded from the lack of oxygen, but the increasing pulsing throughout his body prevented him from passing out. The discomfort quickly turned to pain. Something was clawing its way within him. Digging through his veins, tearing his muscles apart, twisting his insides. His throat was too sore to produce the screams he was trying to release. He needed to do something to stop it. Moving his arms was a mistake. Pulling slightly his right arm felt as if someone had just yanked it forward, and he feared that if he insisted it might separate at the elbow. His skin stuck to the floorboards, the smallest of twitches threatening to tear chunks right off him. So he lay there, moaning and whimpering, trying to prevent his chest from expanding with each breath as to not worsen the pain. He cursed Bendy for not killing him earlier.

It settled, though. The pulsing remained, but the wriggling inside him slowly settled.

Had it been seconds? Days? He didn't know. His limbs twitched and trembled, but he believed (he _hoped_ ) they were no longer falling apart. It sent a chill down his spine feeling his skin pulling on itself, readjusting; but for the first time in the past hours, he knew this was a good sign. His eyes still stung, but his vision became clearer with each passing second. He was still panting, and the last thing he wanted was to move, but his mind was increasingly yelling at him that he was exposed. Warily, Sammy lifted himself with his arms. Every movement sent an unpleasant tingling through his muscles, as if he was now aware of every drop of blood flowing across him. Leaning on the wall, he stood up. The ink and his own vomit covering his clothes weighed him down.

He looked down at himself and all he saw was ink. The cursed substance, the source of all this mess. An uncontrollable urge to get it off took ahold of him and gathering what strength he'd recovered he shook his arm. Barely two drops came off. Frowning, he rubbed at it with his hand, but all it did was smudge it around. Alarms rang in Sammy's mind as he desperately rubbed and scratched until it hurt. It just had to have dried, right? He just needed to wash it off. He _had_ to get it off. He could feel it covering every inch of him. His legs were so heavy, and his shoes filled with liquid, but he forced himself to find a way to the nearest restroom. No. He needed to go out, to escape! But the exits were all blocked and the ink was still on him, crawling, moving. But he might find help outside; there was an ax somewhere to force his way out. But he wanted it off him! _Off, off, off!_ He couldn't stand the feeling. The thing was alive!

His breath hitched when he heard banging above him, and he begged his legs to run, to hide him. The demon would come for him again, he knew it. In spite of not being able to go faster, he reached the restroom without incident. He hurried to open the faucet and put his hands below the water flow, but the liquid just slid of them. Swallowing hard, he rubbed them together but when the water finally took some ink with it, he flinched away. His fingers were burning and they seemed to melt before his eyes. The stinging sensation didn't last long, though, and they recovered their original shape.

He caught sight of the mirror and nearly fell back. Eyes with no pupils stared back at him, looking more like white holes. Not a trace of skin, hair so adhered to the scalp that it was barely noticeable. He started to shake when the thing in the mirror imitated his every move. When he raised his hand, when he touched his face, when he drew closer.

"It's not me," he said as it copied the movement of his mouth.

"It's not me." This had to be a hallucination.

"It's not me!" A nightmare.

"It's not me, it's not me, it's not me," he whispered to himself.

He looked down at his blackened clothes and arms. Hastily he undid the buttons on his shirt, hoping to find anything that told him that thing in the mirror could _not_ be him. But he only found more ink. It expanded and retracted with his breathing, living of it as much as him. He looked back up, at the thing, _his reflection._ And he laughed. He laughed in spite of the pain in his ribcage, and until his cackles turned to incontrollable sobs. He fell to his knees, not able to keep his balance any longer. He just stayed there for a while, during which his most reasonable side told him he needed to calm down. It had to be a nightmare, but the pain told him otherwise. He was repeating to himself how much he wanted to die, how much he wanted to go to Joey Drew himself and drag with him the bastard to whatever hell he was going.

But Sammy Lawrence wasn't one to just accept a fate imposed to him. And he let the image of the man responsible for this fill him with rage. It was better than the despair. It was better than helplessness. He punched the floor and grabbed his head, trying to think. He knew Drew was most likely dead, but he also knew that he had to have a place in the damned studio to help him reverse this. He was still breathing, right? He had his legs, he wasn't yet what his coworkers had come to be in the past hours. That had to mean, some way or another, that he was still human, right?

But… even if he found anything about the ritual, it hadn't been what turned him into this. What was he hoping for? To stand above a pentagram, say gibberish in other language and be cured? No. Holding his face in his hands, Sammy realized there was only one being in the studio with any possibility of being capable of turning him back. He would definitely have to make a trip to Drew's office, but could he force the monster -he shivered, remembering the grin just inches away from his face- to help him?

Or maybe… trick him into it?

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 **This is chapter one of what will be my next fanfic project! (The name could change). Horror has been a little tricky to write, but I hope you liked it! This will be posted and updated in AO3 as well as tumblr!**

 **Please tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	2. Unknown Paths

**You thought I was abandoning this one? Think again! XD I'm going to try and really commit to finishing this story, even if it takes me quite some time between chapters. With the release of chapter three I came up with some ideas I'd like to explore, so at least I have enough content to inspire me. With that said I hope you enjoy this chapter!**

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Everyone knew that the studio wasn't in the greatest of shapes. With Joey cutting corners whenever he got the chance, people had had to get used to creaking doors and squeaking floorboards. It had become so common that nobody really paid attention to the constant noises of complaint the studio's structure made. Right then, though, while Sammy was trying to avoid drawing attention to himself, every creak made him cringe and look around for any sign of hostility. He had to constantly look down to avoid any loose floorboards and… it really wasn't a comforting sight.

He sighed. He'd had to abandon his shoes and socks. The ink pooling in his shoes made it feel like his feet weren't solid anymore and that had become unbearable after a while, not to mention his socks getting stuck to his "skin" had started to hurt. And he never thought his toes would worry him like this. The ink on his feet covered completely the spaces between them, but something felt… off. Every once in a while he would stop and wiggle them a little just to make sure they hadn't fused together. His shirt suffered the same fate as his socks, since the amount of movement from his arms made the tugs of the cloth sticking to them quite painful. The stench of his own vomit on it had only encouraged his decision. Although for some miraculous reason, his once-gray pants weren't sticking to him to him like the rest of his clothing was and he wasn't about to object to it.

Sammy shook his head. He needed to stop. Every time he started questioning his new "anatomy" and thinking of the liquid scurrying inside his extremities each time he flexed them, his mind would start to panic at the wrongness of it all. But it was hard for him to focus. He had been walking for some time now, but he couldn't place where he was. When all he could do was placing a foot in front of the other, his thoughts would inevitably start to drift. He didn't know if it was how some of the walls seemed to be bleeding ink out of nowhere, or how there were pools of the black liquid blocking so many paths, but he couldn't find his way to Joey's office. Come to think of it, had he ever been in this part of the building. He had just run when the demon started attacking and he probably had taken a turn towards an "unauthorized" area. He groaned in frustration. He should have left when Henry did.

His attention snapped back to reality when he perceived movement from up ahead. From the next corner in front of him, a cutout of the cartoon demon himself had appeared. Sammy froze. He stared at the cutout trying to process what he was seeing. It was tilted in a way that its "feet" were hidden behind the wall, but Sammy had seen enough of them to know that there was no way in hell that it would be able to just stay in that position by itself.

His eyes darted to the left where there was another hallway he could follow. Except it was flooded with ink. Just the sight made his stomach churn and placed a bitter taste on his tongue. The moment he imagined a hand emerging and grabbing him as soon as he set foot in the ink, was the moment he knew he wouldn't be physically capable of going that way. His eyes returned to the hallway ahead, only to find the cutout had disappeared. He didn't dare to move just yet, praying that he had imagined the whole thing. Maybe he had already gone crazy. Maybe he was hallucinating. Maybe-

When had he turned to look at the ink hallway?

Something wasn't right. It almost felt like the left half of his body was heavier, and he just couldn't avert his eyes. The only thing that snapped him out of the trance was the realization of something shifting on his body. The ink covering him, flowing downwards until this moment, was now flowing left as if trying to pull him to the liquid mass. When his arm twitched in the same direction, he knew he had to get out of there, possessed cutout or not. He bolted forward, feeling how the ink flow shifted towards his back the further away he got from the cursed hallway. He turned so many corners and passed so many doors, only stopping to rest when the ink stopped pulling him to any direction in particular.

He fell on his knees exhausted. He really needed to get rid of the ink. It had felt like it was trying to reel him in into the ink pool. Like… coaxing him in. He made the decision not to get close to any ink accumulation that reached higher than his ankles. Whatever that demon wanted with him, he would _not_ walk willingly into his arms.

Sammy looked around. He still didn't know where he was but he could see an open door. If it was someone's office, he might be able to get an idea of his surroundings. Having caught his breath he approached it. He hesitated for a moment, seeing how the hinges of the door seemed about to come loose, twisted as if something had tried to rip them off the wall. A peek inside told him that whatever it had been, it was gone.

The room wasn't an office after all. It was quiet small, or maybe that was just the impression he got from all the bookshelves lining the walls. With one last look back to make sure nothing was closing in on him, he stepped inside. There were only a few books for each shelf, but maybe he would find some map with the layout of the building by sheer luck. He somehow doubted it. Scanning the covers, he could see some copies of "The Illusion of Living", while others were notebooks filled with rejected ideas for episodes of the cartoon. He wondered if this was one of the rooms Joey had "reserved" for his own use.

After a couple of minutes of searching, it became apparent to him that staying any longer would be a waste of time. He was about to put back the book he was holding when he noticed something weird in the space where it belonged. There was a crevice at the back of the bookshelf. He frowned and tossed aside the other tomes that blocked it. A pair of hinges revealed the existence of a little secret compartment. _Now_ Sammy was certain this room was Joey's. Without the books to hold it closed, the compartment door opened, its lock apparently broken. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the cover of a book. A bright red pentagram adorned it, not a title in sight. He felt his throat going dry and then the need to take deep breaths. His hands shakily went to retrieve it. He struggled before being able to pull it out of its hiding spot, his fingers barely fitting between the book and the wood due to the volume added by the ink.

He hurried out without having to give it much of a thought, placing the book in his pocket. He knew he was holding something important, even if he didn't know what exactly. He had seen that pentagram somewhere on his way there too. He wasn't itching to open and read the contents of his new acquisition, but if he could only get a clue about the ink, or the monster…

It didn't took him long to find the symbol, at the wall at the base of a staircase. It was the exact same as in the cover. He realized he didn't have a clue of what could happen next. He wasn't sure he wanted to know either. He stood there, staring at the wall and feeling even more stupid by the minute. Just what was he thinking he was going to do?

He heard a groan.

Sammy barely managed to turn around before a pair of inky black hands reached for him. The ink creature grabbed at his arm and pulled. It took all of Sammy's balance not to fall over. The creature extended an arm directly at his face, but Sammy caught it with his free hand. He struggled to free himself without releasing the arm of the monster. As they fought, locked in place, Sammy noticed the head of the creature was twisted at a weird angle. His eyes widened in recognition. But it couldn't be. He had seen it dissolve after its neck snapped. A surge of panic got ahold of him when more grunting reached his ears. If more of them got close while he was trapped like this-! He planted his feet and pulled as hard as he could, succeeding in freeing himself from the monster's grip. The momentum launched him backwards into the wall, but instead of hitting it, he kept falling.

Then everything was darkness. He could only see the pentagram, shining red and getting further away. There were voices and screams, muffled as if from the other side of a wall. He was being dragged backwards. A flash of light blinded him and his back finally connected with the wooden floor. He lay there without moving, the voices just fading from his ears and his eyes readjusting. The pulsing of the ink throughout his body had intensified at some point. He waited until it returned to "normal" before he sat up. In front of him was a wall with a pentagram. Suddenly remembering the monsters, he scrambled to his feet, but a quick look around told him he wasn't where he had been a moment ago. It was a lot darker, but from what he could see, there were some desks toppled sideways and papers scattered all over the floor. The various splotches of ink around him meant he still was in the studio, right? He shook his head. His mind was so sluggish, but his breathing and heartbeat were still racing.

He turned around to look at the pentagram. He needed to know what had just happened. He yanked the book from his pocket and passed the pages with trembling hands. The title "Portals" caught his attention. Was that it? Had he gone through some kind of passageway? He tried skimming the page, but he couldn't understand most of what was written, as a lot of phrases seemed to make no sense. Maybe he needed some sort of code. However, it only took the words "connection to hell" for him to shut the book closed. He thought of the screams he'd heard, the image of souls being consumed by fire popping in his mind.

If that was even a remote possibility, he wouldn't be using these hellish portals anytime soon. He could only hope that this one hadn't taken him to a worse location than the one where he had been at.

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 **Thanks for reading! And please tell me what you think; constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	3. Scratching the Surface

**I really don't have too much to say for this one, except I'm sorry that it took so long to update. Oops!**

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Sammy held his breath. Hidden behind the corner, he could only wait for the ink creatures to pass, and pray they didn't decide to check around his hiding spot. He would have imagined that after a couple of times it would get less nerve-wracking, but no such luck. If anything, he was growing even more paranoid. The ink monster whose neck he had broken had been following him around relentlessly, and it was starting to wear him down. He flinched as the pulsing throughout his body intensified and he pleaded in his mind for the creatures to put enough distance between them already. The constant pulsing he felt and the pull towards big bodies of ink had gotten worse since he had traveled through that strange portal, and right now he was forced to stand motionless near one big puddle just to avoid being seen. Each second felt like an hour, but the monsters moaning eventually faded in the distance.

He let out an inaudible sigh and continued his way… although, he didn't exactly know where he was supposed to be headed. Just how big had this cursed studio gotten, anyway? Sammy had been wandering through halls for hours now, and he still couldn't recognize any of his surroundings. His workplace had become nothing less of a labyrinth. Every office, restroom or closet was a dead end, an opportunity to get cornered. Every decision he made was a gamble. Letting his paranoia build up, however, was a sure way to insanity, so Sammy used the only thing he had at hand to distract himself.

Examining the book he had found, he realized the symbol on the cover wasn't exactly a pentagram, as he had thought. The lines inside the circle certainly didn't form a star and right at the center was what appeared to be a pie-cut eye. Whether that was better or worse, he couldn't decide. The writing within the pages was irregular, with a couple of sentences scratched out here and there. Joey had probably written this by hand, then. It soon became apparent that to fully understand this book, some previous knowledge about whatever his boss had been doing was necessary. Terms unfamiliar to him littered the pages, making Sammy wonder at times if laying his eyes upon them was enough to curse him. There were some sections clear enough to read, though.

Since the day he donated that one record to his boss' "cause", Joey's mentions about some mystical crap had become very frequent, and the employees had ascribed it to an acquired superstition in a desperate attempt to save the studio. Sammy now wished he had payed attention so that he could better understand the chapter labeled " _Rituals_ ". It was very lengthy, with multiple subsections, although he could barely distinguish one from the other. With some effort, he found a page that talked about offerings for the summoned entity. Now _that_ might be helpful to him. But he deflated when he read a note that especified how any offering (or "sacrifice", Sammy read with horror) intended for the demon would depend on the circumstances of the summoning. Thing was, the offerings were crucial to have the demon granting any wishes at all, or so the book said. Just the thought of willingly seeking the demon out to offer anything to it sent a chill down Sammy's spine. He stubbornly scanned the pages for a while, searching for clues of alternatives he could try. In the end, the less direct approach he could find was building some sort of shrine. Sammy almost laughed at the idea of him looking for the materials to make such a thing. It was absolutely ridiculous. He'd much rather spend his time looking for Joey. If the bastard was able to summon a freaking demon, he surely would be able to return him to normal. And yet, if the place was bigger than he'd already seen, how on earth would he be able to find Joey? Further than that, he didn't know if he had a limited amount of time before this "condition" could be reversed. The feeling of wrongness never abandoned him, and only grew with time, in fact, but he was slowly growing used to the new state of his body. His skin sticking to surfaces was becoming unnoticeable, the sensation of liquid traversing through his limbs when he flexed them no longer caused him nausea, and the heaviness of the ink was dissipating, letting him move more fluidly. And that terrified him.

His planning stopped abruptly when he realized he had arrived at yet another dead end. A considerable section of the roof had collapsed, blocking any attempt to continue in that direction. Nothing new, he guessed. But before he could resign himself to retrace his steps until he found another way, the unfortunately familiar sound of groaning echoed in the distance. They were close. Sammy frantically looked around, but there was no corner or door to conceal him. The hole on the roof caught his attention. It was a steep climb, but if he could get to the next floor those things would have to find another way to reach him. His mind made up, he started his way up. There were just a couple of fallen wooden beams he could actually put his weight on, as most of the others had too many splinters sticking out to set his bare hands and feet on them. In his rush, however, he miscalculated the strength of one of the beams and it snapped right beneath him. He couldn't even scream before he felt a wave of pain go up the leg he had landed on. His left foot went right through one of the rotten floorboards, leaving him stuck in place.

Sammy's breathing became labored as he tried to dislodge himself from the floor. If those things hadn't known where he had been, now they definitely knew. They soon appeared around the far end of the hall and they bolted towards Sammy the moment they spotted him. The former music director reached behind him and snatched a piece of wood from the debris, knowing well it wouldn't be of much help. Three creatures reached him too soon for him to get ready and though he swung at them with all his might, the stick just wasn't an effective or heavy enough weapon, and it was easily taken away from his grip. His heart stopped when his only means of defense was snapped and disposed of right in front of him. The monsters then grabbed him and started to pull, trying to drag him away, his stuck foot the only thing preventing them from succeeding. Sammy screamed when the sharp pieces of broken wood dug into his leg with the insistence of the creatures. He planted his free foot and pulled, struggling to free his arms from their grasp. Desperation took ahold of him when the pain in his leg told him it was about to give in to the pressure.

"LET GO, DAMMIT!"

With a last tug on his part, the book that had been hastily placed in Sammy's pocket fell out and landed with its cover up. The struggle stopped at once. The creatures all looked down at the book and, immediately after, let go of Sammy as if it was painful to even touch him. He managed to catch himself from falling, but otherwise didn't dare move, lest he provoke them any further. But they just stared. And what else could Sammy do but wait? Wait for them to go, wait for them to grab the book, wait for them to kill him.

The silence was disturbed by moaning in the distance.

Sammy briefly took his eyes off the three creatures to watch a fourth one arrive. The one with the crooked head. It easily made its way between the others, stopping just a few feet away from the book. And, like the others, it stared. It was then that Sammy understood, they weren't looking at him. They were looking at the book. They almost seemed cautious. Like they were scared of it.

Sammy made his decision and swiftly picked the book up. The ink creatures recoiled from the movement, but otherwise didn't back away. Clutching to it like a lifeline, Sammy waved the book in their direction. _That_ got them to put some distance between them, but they still remained blocking his only exit, and the one with the broken neck wasn't as intimidated as the others. Growing anxious at their incessant stares, Sammy prayed what he was doing would continue to work.

"Come on! GO AWAY!" he yelled at them, while furiously brandishing the book.

And to his surprise, they listened. Two dragged themselves away, while another simply seemed to melt and sink between the floorboards. Only the one that had been stubbornly following him remained. After a few moments, it began moving in his direction.

"No!" Sammy held the book in front of him like it was a shield. "Stay. There."

The creature froze. It looked like it wanted to keep moving forward, but it eyed the book warily instead. Sammy was taken by surprise when the thing started clawing at its own twisted head. It pulled at it, hissing and moaning in apparent pain. Then it stopped and advanced just another inch, its arms extended towards him. It took a few repetitions of the creatures actions for Sammy to understand.

He didn't feel any guilt for having caused the ink monster's suffering. He had acted in self-defense. It had latched onto him while he was _running for his life_ and he could even partially blame it for the current state of his body. Besides, it was beyond risky to just allow it to come any closer. But the truth was, he was stuck, and this creature seemed determined to stalk him to hell and back until he complied. If it appeared when he was in a dangerous situation again, it might very well mean his demise. Maybe reducing that chance later on was worth the risk.

Sammy took a deep breath and lowered the book. He placed it in his pocket, making sure it was positioned in a way that would let him rapidly grab it should the worse happen. Since the monster still didn't budge, he gave it a nod. It approached slowly, almost cautiously. Sammy shifted slightly to avoid damaging his injured leg any further and then knelt down to the creature's level. It was now just inches away from him, its arms completely capable of just shooting out and strangling him. But it stayed still as Sammy, with trembling hands, grabbed it by the sides of its head.

With a swift movement, Sammy pulled it back to its correct position.

He could feel the cracking through his fingers as whatever it had as a neck popped back into place. The creature hissed and pushed him away. Sammy lost his balance and fell backwards, crying out at the sudden pain this caused to his leg. He instinctively reached for the book, but the creature was already backing off. Its "face" was loosing form, and for a moment it looked like it would melt away, just like in its first encounter with Sammy, but it held itself together in the end. Without needing Sammy to shoo it away, the ink monster retreated into the next hall.

Sammy was so absolutely dumbfounded that it almost didn't register how fast his heart was beating. It took him a while to process he had managed to stay alive, and even longer to process those things had at least some level of intelligence. They could be intimidated. They could be reasoned with. Almost…

Remembering he still needed to free himself, Sammy examined the area of the floor his foot had gone through. It was rotten enough to break a bigger hole in it and get it out. Now that he actually had some time, he searched for the heaviest piece of broken wood he could hold, and as he tried to open up the floor, he pondered what this discovery about the ink creatures meant for his survival… and if he even wanted it to mean anything at all.

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 **I hope you enjoyed! And please tell me what you think, constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	4. Settling

**In which Sammy arrives at a familiar place and finally feels like things are looking up for him.**

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Sammy couldn't stop thinking about it. If those monsters could understand him, if they could try to make him understand _them_ , did it mean the remains of his coworkers were still in there somewhere? Maybe they weren't so far gone that they couldn't be saved too. If what he would attempt worked, maybe he would be able to help the rest. Or well, that's what he liked to think. Truth be told, he didn't trust himself to not just flee the studio the moment he managed to return to normal. For the being, though, being as trapped as all the others, the thought of ditching everyone else to save his own neck made him feel deeply ashamed of himself. As annoying as it had been working for Joey Drew, he had met some good people.

He wondered if he would feel differently had he not discovered the ink monsters weren't just mindless globs with an urge to kill. Although it was possible he was giving them too much credit. Only one of them seemed to have tried to communicate, while the others simply either feared or respected the little Book he now carried with him. Or it could be the symbol on the cover that they feared. Was it an instinct for them? If it was, then what did that mean for him? Where exactly did he fall in all of this?

Deep in thought, he didn't hear the gurgling sounds until it was too late.

A gloved fist hit him square on the jaw, the impact making him fall backwards. Sammy barely had time to shake himself out of the surprise before dodging a second punch. He dragged himself on the floor, trying to put space between his assailant and him. His jaw dropped at sight. In front of him was what he could only describe as a disfigured real version of the show's spider character Edgar. It's lips were sewn shut, a very human-looking eyeball contrasted with its other pie cut eye, and unlike the ones on its right side, the two left arms were entwined and fused, ending on a single giant hand. Hand which just sprung right at him once again.

Its reach was greater than it should have been, and Sammy's shoulder received the brunt of the hit. Hissing in pain, he turned around and sprinted down the hall. The relief he felt upon noticing the monster couldn't possibly catch up with him was short lived. After turning a corner, a huge mass collided against his stomach, knocking the air out of him. To his horror, the thing that had hit him was a head. He hurled it away, and watched astonished as it merely swinged in the opposite direction. The head was attached to the line of a fishing rod, which was impaled into whatever cartoon character's body it belonged to. He didn't stay enough to try and make sense of what it was, especially since he could already see a third creature approaching. The only only feature Sammy could distinguish on it before he bolted was an eye in the shape of an "X".

Breathing hard and with his vision unfocusing at times, he tried unsuccessfully to find the path he had come from. A door at the end of the hall he was in turned out to be his only way forward. He promptly entered it and discovered, to his dismay, it was a fairly small office. He couldn't turn around, though. Even if slower than him, the creatures were hot on his trail, and he could already see them coming at him from a distance. He hurried to close the door and knocked a nearby bookshelf to block it. Not long passed before they reached the door and started ramming into it. The old wood wasn't a match for the three monsters striking it at the same time, cracks already starting to appear on it. Doubting the bookshelf would stall them for much longer, Sammy scanned the room looking for any object he could use as a weapon. Instead, he spotted the same symbol of the cover of the Book, painted on the wall opposite from the door. And it immediately dawned upon him.

" _Of course! The book!_ " he thought.

Sammy wanted to slap himself for not thinking of it sooner.

Turning to face the door, he saw the creature supposed to be Edgar attempting to squeeze its head through a whole it had managed to open. The music director held the book up, making sure the cover was facing the monster.

"Stop this instant! Leave!" he ordered.

The creature stopped struggling to look at him for a moment… Then proceeded to widen the hole on the door by punching through it with its bigger fist.

"No!" Sammy's voice wavered. "I- I told you to stop!"

His attempts at intimidating them were ignored once again, in favor of continuing the massacre on the door. Sammy could feel his heartbeat racing as what he thought was his safety net was rendered useless. He backed up until his back touched the wall, but recoiled from it when he remembered what was painted on it. Just the memory of floating through that "passage" made what remained of his skin crawl. The sole action of being near the symbol worsened the pulsing of the ink traversing his body. It wasn't long ago he swore not to try and utilize them; however, the decision was made for him when a shower of splinters was shot in his direction. There was no time to doubt.

Sammy pressed his hands against the wall… but nothing happened. His stomach dropped. Maybe he was just doing it wrong. Maybe he needed to touch the symbol somewhere specific. He dragged and pushed his hands all over the wall, trying his damnedest to ignore the cracking sounds behind him. He almost felt like fainting when the wall stayed as solid as it looked. Thinking quickly, he took the Book out and was about to opening to search for an answer when his eyes caught a difference on the symbol of the wall compared to the one on the cover. The enclosing circle was smudged on its left side. That had to be it! If not… Sammy shook his head. Focus.

The fix was a simple one, but of course, there wasn't any ink around. And the one covering him just _wouldn't come off_! There had to be something he could use. Anything that would stop his fate of dismemberment at the hands of abominations that sounded as if they were choking on their own-

Wait. That was it! Saliva!

Sammy wasted no time and spit on the wall. He did his best to steady his trembling hand as the door and bookshelf finally gave in. The moment the line was repainted, his arm was practically sucked inside the wall, taking him through the portal just as cartoony fingers barely failed to grab him.

A sense of weightlessness took ahold of him, and this time instead of falling, he felt he was floating upwards. Darkness once again surrounded him, save for the bright red symbol he was approaching. The exit. Sammy found himself unable to stop staring at it, even when the muffled screams and whispers where louder and more numerous than last time. The seconds seemed longer than they really were, but just as quickly as he had entered, he got out.

He was suddenly on his feet, although the abrupt return of gravity nearly made him lose his balance. He covered his eyes with his arms, as even the dim illumination of the place he'd arrived at was too harsh compared to the previous darkness. Sammy inhaled sharply, realizing he hadn't been breathing as he traversed the portal.

He blinked a couple of times to disperse the haziness in his sight and discovered his surroundings were kind of familiar to him. There was nothing but a couple of chairs and empty shelves (and well, the giant symbol he was standing on). Yes, he recognized this room! He had had to pass through that same room for years to get to the Music Department. Something akin to relief flooded him at the idea of the place he knew like the back of his hand. It was almost enough to forget the uncomfortable pulsing somewhat painfully coursing through him. Almost.

Sammy gave himself a moment to recover from the previous chase. He noticed both his shoulder and torso had stopped hurting already, but he honestly didn't know whether he should be worried or not. Feeling the tiniest bit of vigor return to him, he dared open the door to the next hall. Just the change of scenery made him the tiniest bit relaxed. Even if it was just an illusion, he felt more in control in his department. By sheer muscle memory he walked to and pressed the first two switches that would open the gate further ahead, pleased to find none of them had been damaged by the ink. The hall leading to the gate hadn't been so lucky, some leaks already forming puddles, but it would be a while before that could become a problem. And Sammy hoped he would be out by then.

The signboard of his department was the most welcoming sight he had encountered since the whole mess had started. Out of habit, his feet took him through the long hall on the left towards his office. He could almost pretend he was just arriving to get to work. He stepped inside the office, and closed his eyes for a second. For a fleeting moment, the urge to get ahead on his work in case people interrupted him later in the day took ahold of him. But it was gone as soon as it came. Sammy opened his eyes, looked at his desk, looked at the drawers which contained years of his work. Years of his very _life_. And he knew this had to be the place. This department. This floor.

He would make Bendy's shrine here.

* * *

Sammy baged his head against the desk and pulled at his slicked inky hair. Not even sitting in his own sanctuary could make the ideas flow. What he could read of the Book merely listed suggestions instead of clear instructions, and he couldn't begin to think of where on the damned studio he could get the materials he supposedly needed. Just another of Joey's brilliant ways to screw him over even when the man was out of reach. He'd gone on a hunt around the Music Department, leaving no room unchecked, but all he'd manage to find was tons of the stupid unsellable bacon soup cans and a dusty watch.

The watch he had been happy to come across. Sammy had already began feeling like the passing of time had stopped inside the walls of the windowless studio, so it was grounding to have something that told him otherwise. He didn't want to lose touch with any elements of reality that still remained in the building. He couldn't be certain how long it had been, so he assigned a certain piece of paper the role of calendar, and imposed himself the chore of religiously drawing a mark on it every twelve hours. It remained in his pocket from then on.

The bacon soup on the other hand…

He hadn't really thought about it. He knew he should have, but he had been pretty busy trying not to die at the hands of ink monsters. So when he picked up the third can that had been hidden just enough to make him trip to fling it against a wall, the realization that he hadn't been hungry yet hit him like a truck. He'd stop mid-throw and just stared at the can, not really looking at it. He knew for a fact hours, if not a whole day had passed. Sammy had ran, had screamed, had fought, had almost drowned, had vomited. But his body hadn't yet begged for any sustenance. He had almost let his mind wander back to the image of the being he saw in the mirror. To the horrifying idea that maybe there wasn't any humanity left in him. But he knew that if he dwelled on it for too long, it would would end in a bottomless pit of despair he wouldn't escape. So he tried focusing on how ridiculous the failure to sell the soup in his hand was. How the studio was now doomed to be a bacon soup storage. How the fact that they could be opened without any tools could not convince the public to buy them. And then he'd chugged the can empty. He _was_ still human after all. He still _needed_ to eat. He hadn't touched another one since then.

It had been three days now. The most he had achieved was visualizing what he could do here and there, and he'd successfully managed to sleep by resting his head on his desk (forcing himself later to ignore how his back hadn't complained). Otherwise, he had looked over his past work, retuned all the instruments at least five times, listened to the tapes left by his coworkers, and watched the film that remained in the projector booth. When he'd ran out of ways to procrastinate, he had forced himself to return to his sanctuary and try again to form a plan more detailed than just "build the stupid shrine". He absolutely refused to wander away from the Music Department, as it had been difficult enough to find somewhere to hole himself in. Not to mention every time he'd moved he had been forced to go somewhere new and wasn't able to find his way back to previous locations. But now, out of options, maybe he would have to. If he was being honest, he had probably ran out of options about two days ago. Being attacked by ink abominations was just a great deterrent.

And speaking of ink abominations, a gurgling sound from just outside his sanctuary reached his ears. He tensed at once and stayed still, waiting for any other sound cues. It couldn't be the Butcher Gang. He'd practically barricaded himself in the department, and based on his brief encounter with them, they had to use -or break- doors. This only left the others. The ones that dragged themselves and could seep through the floor cracks.

Clutching the Book, Sammy warily made his way to the recording room. He peeked around the corner and saw two of the half-bodied creatures crawling around. Before he could even plan his next move, the one that was closest noticed him. In less than a second it disappeared through the floor, alerting the second one, who followed suit, leaving nothing but receding puddles.

Sammy sighed. He knew he should be happy the ink monsters were avoiding him. It meant a lot less trouble since they were the one able to pop out wherever the hell they wanted. However… he couldn't help but wonder if he could reach out to them. He'd been thinking about it for a while, and with each day that passed, the more he doubted he would be able to achieve anything alone. Venturing further was too risky, but staying put had ended with him being stuck. If his coworkers were still there somewhere in the ink, if he could just explain to them what he was trying to do, if he could get their support somehow, then maybe his plan would actually have a chance of working.

He listened closely for any more sounds that could tell him where any other of the other creatures could be. Surprisingly, there was some groaning echoing nearby, so he made his way to the hall, just in time to see one of the monsters slip away.

"Wait!"

He ran to where it had been moments ago, too late to try any arguments that would convince it to stay. Sammy wasn't deterred, though. The things were everywhere, he knew he would find some. Determined to take at least one by surprise, he made his steps as light as possible and scouted the rest of the department. But the creatures weren't as easily approachable as he thought. One after the other, his efforts to try getting them to listen were thwarted by their speedy retreats. He even tried putting away the Book as to not intimidate them, but to no avail.

Out of breath and utterly frustrated, he descended the stairs from the projector booth to the main area. Sammy stared at the exit located at the center of it all. It was taunting him. The stairs leading to it were currently flooded, but why bother draining the leak? He'd accepted that going out without getting rid of his "condition" was something he couldn't bring himself to do. He had come close to it no doubt, but putting a hand on the knob to his freedom immediately filled him with an unbearable disgust of the substance that coated and probably lived inside him. The urge to get rid of it grew every time it crossed his mind, and it overrode any desire of safety and freedom. He wouldn't find a solution outside. So he was stuck.

Now exhausted and positively depressed, Sammy headed to the recording room. He was done with this fruitless chase. What a foolish idea it had been. He wished he could just forget about it all.

Sammy gazed blankly at the empty room and realized just how alone he felt. There was nothing. There was no one. The silence was deafening. The silence was painful. A hollowness he had never felt before was taking over. He looked around, but nothing felt real. Like a scene he wasn't a part of. He suddenly felt lost. He didn't know what he was supposed to do…

…

No.

He was the music director.

This was the place where he dictated what was done.

And right now, he dictated the silence needed to stop.

His eyes fell on a banjo, abandoned against the wall. Almost mechanically, he reached for it. Choosing a seat right in the middle of the room, he began to play. At first he defaulted to "Sheep Songs", one of the classics of the show, but after a minute he closed his eyes and let the notes flow without a guide. His favorite instrument was like a extension of himself, his hands deeply familiar with its form. A sweet melody, never to be performed again, emerged within the room. It was simple, but it followed Sammy's command and fended off the silence. If only for a couple of minutes, it helped lift the growing heaviness that clung at the musicians chest. When the tune began to falter, he contented himself with softly strumming the banjo. After a final stroke of the strings, he opened his eyes and found he could breath a bit easier. Found he felt just a little more connected to his surroundings.

Movement by the door caught his attention. One of the inky creatures observed him from outside the room. From the way it was staring at him, Sammy could tell it was _that one_ too. He wondered how long it had been there. Seems it wasn't done stalking him after all.

"You wouldn't have a candle you could lend me, would you?" Sammy's voice sounded wearier than he would have liked.

As expected, the monster disappeared upon being addressed. He would have to get used to not getting his hopes to high for the time he was trapped in the studio. Sammy could hardly muster the energy to care, though. He yawned, his eyelids drooping. He considered a nap sounded nice right about now. He balanced his chair backwards, wondering if trying to sleep on the cheap damaged mattresses over at the infirmary would actually be more uncomfortable than the floorboards. The careful list of pros and cons he was making in his head was interrupted by a black mass suddenly popping out of the ground. He was thrown off his balance and fell back along with the chair.

He tried to shake off the pain in the area he had landed on, and stood up quickly. In front of him was the monsters that had disappeared a minute ago, an arm extended towards Sammy. Neither of them moved, giving Sammy time to notice it had something in its hand.

A candle.

He stared at the object with a dumbfounded expression. The monster had actually listened. It had brought what he requested. He hadn't even showed it the Book, which he had thought was necessary. Did that mean this particular monster trusted him? Even after breaking its neck? Were these things even smarter than he'd assumed? But if they were, could Sammy trust _them_ then? Were they on his side, or could they be setting him a trap? Who could- ?

A grunt took him out of his internal paranoia. The ink monster had inched forward, waving the candle at him impatiently. He swallowed hard, but warily accepted it.

"Thank you," he said slowly. "This will help."

The monster didn't answer, unsurprisingly. Sammy had inferred long ago none of them could. And yet, how still it remained told him it was waiting for something. For all the time he had spent chasing them, he realized how at a loss of words he was now that he had one of the creatures' full attention.

"I…"

The monster cocked its head to side. Sammy sighed and against his better judgement, kneeled to the same level of his interlocutor. Maybe being as direct as possible would help.

"Listen. I just want to get out of this place," he started. "But I can't if I look like… this." He gestured to himself. " _This_ is not what I am and- and it's not what _you_ are either."

He paused for a moment, trying to gauge the other's reaction, but its expression (or lack thereof) was undecipherable.

"I, uh, I have an idea of what can be done. And this is the key to getting out, or so I think." He took the Book out for the creature to see. It did flinch at that, but otherwise didn't make a move to back away. Good.

"I can't exactly do it alone, though..."

Sammy scratched his head, feeling increasingly awkward with this one-sided conversation. But he knew the creature should be able to understand. He also knew it was his only chance to get some help. He couldn't screw this up. He took a deep breath and tried to enter the mindset of the Music Director he was supposed to be. He needed the confidence and authority he had when giving a speech as the person in charge.

"All this happened because of that- that _demon_ Joey summoned. We need to get on its good side. We do that, then we have a chance in this hellhole. That's the plan. And I can take care of most of it. I promise, I will. But I need a team. I need you and the others to help me. If you lend me your trust, I will get us out."

The stance of the creature had changed. It was attentive. Sammy would have sworn he saw a hint of emotion in the distorted mass that was its face. He would have tried to analyze it better, if it wasn't because three other monsters emerged a couple of feet away. They seemed to be paying as much attention as the first one. They were waiting. He took this as a good sign.

"Well, then. Seems we have reached an agreement, haven't we?" He looked at the four of them, and decided his first command. "First thing first, bring me as many candles as you can find. We have a shrine to make."

He couldn't help but be surprised by the immediate response. With no hesitation, they disappeared and he was confident they would bring what he needed. He almost wanted to laugh. So many things could have gone wrong. Seemed like Lady Luck was finally smiling upon him.

The creatures returned shortly after, a dozen candles deposited at his feet. And double the monsters had come back to him. He then instructed them some more. To bring more candles. Something to light the fire, bowls to place things as offerings. Cardboards, posters, anything with Bendy's face on it.

By the time half the things were brought to him, fifteen of the creatures had arrived. Sammy looked around at the small group and felt… hope. He'd made progress and, if he was allowed some wishful thinking, he had acquired some degree of protection too. He could start building the shrine right away, but his new partners, his searchers (a suitable name for them he decided), had spent quite some time working. Remembering the first one had approached while he played the banjo, he imagined they hadn't heard anything pleasant in a while. So he gathered them around the piano, and played another tune.

* * *

 **Man, I really need to stop making poor Sammy be chased so much, haha!**

 **I hoped you enjoyed and please tell me what you think! Constructive criticism is always appreciated!**


	5. New Old Faces

**I can only apologize for how long this took to update XD**

* * *

It was incredible what some time, patience and isolation could do. Sammy was actually starting to recognize the individual searchers. It was difficult, for sure, and some either didn't stay consistent or weren't the same ones, but Sammy could swear that the others had at least one defining characteristic, be it physical or in their behavior. Even so, he hadn't had the idea f naming them, even after the couple of weeks that had passed. This proved to be a mistake as the _one_ had been missing for a few days now, and he had no way of asking the others for its location if he couldn't pinpoint who he was talking about.

At first he had tried not to worry about it, focusing on preparing the department for its future purpose. Keeping it in shape, was proving difficult, however, with all the rotten boards rotting and the structure succumbing to the disaster the studio had become. He ended up accepting he couldn't do much for that aspect, so he tried to prepare as much of the shrine as he could. Problem was... he didn't know what else to do. Again. Items had been gathered, anything that screamed of adoration for the studio's cartoon star. But he knew this couldn't possibly be enough. Or if it was, there surely was another step he didn't know about.

With his time occupied by this and more, he hadn't thought much about the searcher's disappearance. That and trying to keep his sanity intact from literally trying to accomplish some messed up ritual to return his body to normal. But he could only change the combination to enter his sanctuary so many times before that too became dull.

He couldn't deny another reason was that he was still somewhat disturbed by the ink creatures, but acknowledging he should make some effort to prove himself indispensable and keep the alliance alive, he finally kicked himself to go look for the missing searcher. He had learned short ago that it frequented the infirmary, even when flooded, so he headed there first. Sammy didn't find it in the place itself, but he had the feeling he must be in the right track. He opens the door to the sewers, a section of the studio he surprisingly had to visit frequently. Just another annoyance in what had been his workplace.

After a couple of minutes walking, he spotted the elusive ink monster. He approached cautiously, but the creature didn't pay him much attention. It was busy staring at the little "office" that had been placed in the middle of the sewers. One that he was intimately familiar with. He frowned, his feet automatically carrying him to the spot where he usually had stood to talk with Jack Fein, a lyricist so fond of his job that he was willing to put up with the stench of the sewers just to get some silence to work. A man stubborn as a mule, someone who tended to make Sammy's job difficult and butted heads with him almost every day. A man Sammy considered a close friend...

He sighed upon seeing the bowler hat Jack used to wear every day abandoned on his desk. He picked it up and turned it around in his hands. The searcher finally reacted at that and reached for the banjo that was a sitting in a corner of the office, offering it to Sammy. He raised an eyebrow, but set the hat down and took the instrument anyways. He walked up the step into the office and took a seat on Jack's usual chair. Strumming the banjo mindlessly, he noticed it was out of tune. He felt the need to correct it, if only to have everything in his friend's space in order. As he started to tune the instrument, the searcher got into the office as well, looking through the papers scattered on the floor, no doubt pushed away in a hurry the day the ink demon got loose.

Sammy got lost in his task until he was brought back to reality when the searcher started shaking a music sheet in front of him. He blinked, and after a second to understand it wanted him to take it, he reached for it. The page was nearly blank save for the scratched out multiple titles at the top of it, where Jack and Sammy had been fighting to get the last say. He paused for a moment, looking sadly at the ink letters, then grabbed the hat once again and placed it on the searcher's head.

"We should have just started with the melody, shouldn't we, my friend?" he said.

The searcher looked down at his hands as if in deep thought, then slowly looked up at Sammy and nodded. Hesitating for only a second, Sammy reached to place his hand on its -no, _his_ \- shoulder.

"I'm sorry, Jack..."

He wasn't sure what he was apologizing for. He state of his friend? Breaking his neck? The fall of the studio in general, even if it hadn't been his fault? Maybe it was all of the previous reasons.

"Why not tell me...?" Sammy couldn't help the hint bitterness in his voice. After all, even ordering the searchers around, the loneliness and grief of thinking everyone else had been destroyed or... _transformed_ into something they weren't had started to affect him.

Jack only shook his head. He took off his hat and stared at it, looking as if he was focusing. He looked at Sammy and while the music director could tell Jack was searching for something, whatever it was, Sammy didn't know how to give it to him.

Maybe Jack hadn't realized he was Jack until recently either.

With that thought in mind, Sammy set the banjo aside and stood up.

"Come on. I don't... understand what the others are usually thinking," he told Jack as he exited the office. "But I'm sure even them must be wondering where you disappeared to."

Jack didn't immediately react, but after a second he placed the hat back on his head and followed Sammy back. As they walked, Sammy's mind was filled with questions. Who else could be waiting to rediscover who they were? Was it even possible for some of them? Could Sammy help them? Although, he didn't exactly know what had been the factor that had helped Jack.

Too deep in his thoughts, he didn't pay enough attention to his surroundings.

As they were returning to Sammy's sanctuary, he noticed a faint sound in the distance, so muffled he believed he was imagining it. It became clear it wasn't the case when inky veins covered the walls. The now distinguishable sound of a heartbeat came closer and closer, making Sammy's own pulse accelerate when he realized what it meant. The illusion of safety that his department had provided him with shattered in an instant and panic gripped him, making it hard to breath. Had he been paying attention, he would have seen the other searchers in his surroundings didn't seem afraid if a bit alert.

In his panic and with his mind yelling at him that he was going to die, he failed to noticed that he was being pulled away by his arm, Jack guiding him at a surprising speed for what he had seen the searchers capable of. He barely became aware that his surroundings where changing because of how often he kept looking over his shoulder. Only when the heartbeat of the Ink Demon became inaudible is that he started paying attention. They had passed a couple of metal doors and a number of hallways. They couldn't be in the Music Department anymore. After a while, Jack stopped pulling, deeming it safe enough for now. Looking around, Sammy recognized it as the path that lead to the Toy Department. Taking a couple of deep breaths to regain his bearings, he moved forward. He failed to notice Jack wasn't following, looking like he wanted to stop him.

And just as he entered the main hall with the giant ink fountain Drew had bought, he froze.

A woman was calmly sitting at the edge of the fountain. A woman with long black hair, horns, and a glowing halo floating on top of her head, humming one of the tunes he had helped to write. In her hand she held an Alice Angel doll, which she was gazing at fondly.

Feeling his presence, she looked up at him.

* * *

 **I hope you liked it, please tell me what you think!**


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